


though all before me is shadow

by goukyorin (sashimisusie)



Series: her rank equals mine [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, request fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashimisusie/pseuds/goukyorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She would know her whether dressed in a silk ball gown fit for a princess or clad in scouting leathers well-oiled for silence and stealth. But neither of them should be here, and something is not quite right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	though all before me is shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [varentains (storminlover)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storminlover/gifts).



> _Though all before me is shadow,_  
>  _Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
>  _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._  
>  _For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_  
>  _And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._
> 
> _— Trials 1:14_

       The halls are dark, but familiar. Though it has been many a year since she fled the manse, Cassandra could walk them in her sleep. One does not simply forget such a place, where the restless dead creak and groan with every swish of the tree branches against her window pane. If she closes her eyes and lets her mind wander, she is five years old again and tip-toeing in semidarkness with a hand pressed to the velvet-draped walls to Anthony’s room. Quietly, softly she goes. Whether it is to keep the shambling corpses from hearing, or for her own peace of mind, she does not know.

       Houses of the dead are such noisy, eerie places. But her countrymen are more preoccupied with the next life than this, and not even a place at the Maker’s side will convince them to care more for the living. Toss it all on the fire and be done with it, Dorian’s voice echoes in those words, and Cassandra cannot help but let the ghost of a smile tug up the corner of a lip.

       Humour fades quickly when the sound of shuffling—besides the Seeker’s own footfalls—makes itself apparent to her. Someone, or something else is at the end of the hall, features shrouded in shadow. Drawing closer, still cautious, she startles. She would know her whether dressed in a silk ball gown fit for a princess or clad in scouting leathers well-oiled for silence and stealth.

       There is little reason that the Seeker should be here, and even _less_ of a reason for her.

 **“** _Leliana——?_   **”**

       Cassandra reaches out to lay a hand upon her shoulder, to spin her around in that blue gown strewn with gold stars and face her but something is off about the way she’s standing. It hits her then, a curling tendril of familiarity pulling her back, of the necropoli that she ran to the Chantry to escape. The Left Hand smells  _wrong_ , sunflowers and stale incense instead of soft white Andraste’s Grace, choking and twisting across Cassandra’s throat surer than the hands of the dead-eyed corpse holding the Seeker down.

       It’s not actually her in there. Once the dead have crossed to the Fade, they do not return. That does not stop Cassandra from trying to reason with the walking corpse that bears her face, even if those blue eyes are vacant of life and lit only by the sick glow of necromancy.

 **“** _Leliana, let me go!_ **”** ****

There is no sword on her hip, no blade tucked into the Seeker’s sleeve to turn aside the deceptively-strong hands that circle her neck and pull her close. Gloved fingers grasp and push, and finally weaken when her chest can make its screams for air no longer. Cassandra wakes with a snap, hand fisted in her sheets and the other clawing at her neck at the phantom memory of fingers tight around her throat. Stilling her pounding heart with ragged breaths—she can breathe, no one is trying to kill her—she moves to stand.

     It wasn’t real, the Seeker reassures herself even as she tugs on her boots and settles the familiar weight of a sword onto her hip. It was a piece of the Fade twisted by her dreaming mind. A nightmare: nothing more and nothing less. But she has to make sure, even if every step that takes her closer to Leliana’s quarters galls her. Cassandra is _steel_ and _iron_ , wrought in flame and tried in blood. She has choked back fear and stood against dragons and Venatori. What is a nightmare compared to that?

      _( Unconscious and helpless, too weak to stand and protect. To falter is to fail, and to fail is to lose one held dear. )_

     The Spymaster is understandably grumpy to be woken at such an hour, fingers reaching for the daggers under her pillow until she catches sight of the Seeker’s expression. Lip bitten to scarlet and knuckles pale against the door frame, Cassandra must look enough of a mess to her that she stills, harsh words set aside for a silent gesture to take a seat beside her.    

 **“** It is nothing to concern yourself with, **”** The Seeker insists, even as she picks a path across the semi-darkness to where Leliana sits, decidedly hale and hearty and blessed with the grace of Andraste herself as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Cassandra lets herself be drawn loosely into an embrace, steel and iron softening to malleability in her fire and her hands. Here, in the half-light of the nearing sunrise and with the quiet beat of Leliana’s heart close to her ear, is reassurance.

       Fingers twine and breathing slows before Cassandra murmurs once more, more a sigh than anything else.  **“** I just had to make sure you were still here. **”**

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Kinda drabble request, do you think you'd ever do a nightmare drabble with Cassandra dreaming of [specificed love interest here] walking towards her and when they reach her to embrace her it becomes like the corpses her Uncle used to have wandering around the house. If you want to do it with a friend, I'd settle for the Divine or Leliana.
> 
> As you can tell, I went down the friend route (sort of, kind of) because I love to write about the Hands and their understated relationship. Thank you, kind anonymous requester with a very neat idea, and also many thanks to [shieldedbyflame](http://shieldedbyflame.tumblr.com/) for listening to me shout about these two a lot.


End file.
